


How Tragic That I Should Wake Too Late To Save You

by Hodgesicle



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: A Lot Of Fucking Angst, Angst, But it’s written nke, I’m hurting but this was a good work to write, Kudos to my friend who gave me the idea for this fic in the first place, M/M, Suicide, and I mean like god, i don’t think I did it good justice, its the night of the soul suicide scene, oh god what have I done, please don’t sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 16:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15976175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hodgesicle/pseuds/Hodgesicle
Summary: “I needed to see you Lieutenant.” Connors words were soft, but firm through the silence of the room. Though the way he spoke was almost as though he was unsure he should be speaking at all. “I was worried about you,” was he really worried? Or was that just part of his social relations program? Just something wired into his system, that only came into play when the time was right. Of course. There was no way he could feelrealworry.Androids don’t feel. “I came by to see if you were alright. And, to say goodbye.”





	How Tragic That I Should Wake Too Late To Save You

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So. I don’t usually think about writing things like this, but I was talking to a good friend of mine when she suggested something about using Hank’s suicide scene from Night of the Soul, with a machine Connor who turns Deviant too late. She did actually suggest a happier ending, but I’m evil and well, screw that, sad all the way I say. 
> 
> If you have already written a scene like this before I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t steal your idea, I don’t read HankCon or anything of the like. 
> 
> Please take this as any form of HankCon relationship, but I mainly see them as platonic; but it’s cool if you see them as romantic. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy while you can.

The self drive taxi came to a halt, the automated voice sounding the end of transport. The doors slid open with a click and beep, and Connor swung his legs out to place his feet on solid ground, facing himself to look up at the small bungalow in front of him. 

115 Michigan Drive. 

Residence to Lieutenant Hank Anderson. 

Connor approached the front door, carrying his weight up the porch steps and reaching up to knock. He stopped and thought better of it, instead taking hold of the door knob and twisting. With little effort, the door swung open and Connor was greeted with the inside of Hank’s house, still littered with empty pizza boxes and half full beer bottles, dog toys spread over the living room floor and dog hairs covering the couches. 

He caught the St. Bernard curled in the corner by the desk in the living room, the large dog looking up at him with sad eyes.

Then the Android spotted the elderly Lieutenant, sitting crouched over the kitchen table; spotting a single bottle of scotch whiskey, a photo of Hank’s son and the .357 Magnum revolver he kept handy all huddled by his folded hands, as he made he way over. Connors eyes drifted over each of the items individually before he finally turned to look at Hank. He noticed the Detroit Police Department hoodie he wore and how much scruffier the man had become in the passing hours of his quitting the force. 

Somehow Connor felt a slight twinge of guilt in his system. _No. He didn’t. He didn’t feel anything. Androids are machines. And machines don’t feel emotions._

“I needed to see you Lieutenant.” Connors words were soft, but firm through the silence of the room. Though the way he spoke was almost as though he was unsure he should be speaking at all. “I was worried about you,” was he really worried? Or was that just part of his social relations program? Just something wired into his system, that only came into play when the time was right. Of course. There was no way he could feel _real_ worry. _Androids don’t feel_. “I came by to see if you were alright. And, to say goodbye.” 

Hank didn’t say anything, he merely continued to stare at the pine table beneath him, tired eyes trained on the wood grain. Connor let out an inward sigh, glancing to his side, before he continued, Sumos whining suddenly becoming present in the his audio processors. 

“I know I’m responsible for what happened, Lieutenant, I just want you to know that I’m sorry.” Connors head bowed slightly, trying to get the elder man to look at him, and Hank almost did, the subtle glance of his eyes upwards telling Connor that the man was holding himself from meeting his eyes. “You know,” The RK800 almost stopped himself, but something within him forced the words out. Somehow he knew the Lieutenant needed to hear it. “In spite of all our differences, I’m glad I got the chance to meet you.” 

Hank raised his head, however little, the wrinkled blue eyes finally glancing briefly into the doe brown of the Androids, before they were down turned once again, going back to the revolver sitting in front of him. Connors brow furrowed, noticing the way Hank looked at the gun. There was something to that look. Something dangerous. And deep down Connor didn’t like it at all. Every little thing Hank did in this moment, Connor noticed. The little gestures and glances he took towards the weapon in front of him, Connor noticed. The way Hank kept in himself; unlike the assertive and bold, brash attitude he was capable of, Connor noticed. The way he was unkempt and messy; more so than usual, Connor noticed. 

The RK800 could tell Hank was in a rough place, but there was a barrier between him and the wanting need to help him. 

_No, Androids don’t want. They are machines. They have no such desires. Only Deviants have those thoughts. And you’re not a Deviant._

Connors eyes trained in on the scotch, before he opened his mouth to speak, holding a slight hand towards the man. 

“I know I’ve said this before, Lieutenant, but you should stop drinking.” Connors brow furrowed, unable to stop the sudden concern lacing its way into his words, without his intention. Something was stirring in the Android that was making him feel uncomfortable in the situation. _No, Androids don’t feel uncomfortable_. He pushed it aside, focusing again on the man in front of him, his eyes this time drifting over the revolver. “And you should get rid of that gun.” Connor shook his head, taking hold of the chair back closest to him. “Stop playing that _game_. It’s going to kill you.” 

Hank’s head shook in reply, a breathy laugh pushing through his nose, not looking up at the Android. Connor only became more frustrated with the gesture, his hand tightening round the grip of the chair, his jaw tightening. He was frustrated Hank wasn’t taking this seriously; frustrated that he wasn’t _listening_. Why did he never _listen?_ Why did he never consider that Connor was trying to _help?_ Finally, the RK800 shook his head, eyes slipping shut briefly before he spoke. 

“I would suggest you also stop looking at that photo, Lieutenant.” Connor paused, looking for the right words to continue. “Nothing can change the past. But you can learn to live again.” Hank looked up at that, eyes meeting Connors again. He could see the concern laced in the Androids brow; see the worry etched on his features, screwing up that goofy looking face of his. “For yourself.” Connor continued. “And for Cole.” Hank almost laughed again. _What a fucking joke. After all this time, he’s still trying to show emotion. What a fucking joke._

There was a silence between them, Sumos soft whines and cries filling the air, before Hank finally plucked up the nerve to speak, letting out a sigh. 

“Ya know Connor, for a while there, I almost believed in you.” He looked back to the table, unable to watch the raise of questioning brows on the Androids face. “I thought, maybe, you might just restore my faith in the world.” He raised his head, looking blankly ahead of him, shaking his head, an almost amused look on his tired, wrinkled features. Yeah, almost was the right word. He was _almost_ persuaded that this world isn’t so bad after all; _almost_ persuaded that maybe everything was okay. Oh, how wrong was he to think that. How wrong he was to think he could believe in a machine designed by selfish bastards, for selfish bastards. Hank’s gaze followed the grain in the table again, head nodding slightly with dejection. “But you just showed me that, Androids are our creation. Our creation, in our own image. Just selfish, ruthless and brutal.” 

His eyes drifted over to the photo and knitted his brows with sorrow. 

“You made me think of Cole, ya know.” Connors head lowered a little at the thought, though he continued to listen intently to Hank’s words. “Every time you died and came back, made me think of my son.” Their eyes met, and Connor felt the sudden urge to look away, the intensity of the icy blue stare almost too much to bear, but he held himself sturdy, keeping his eyes locked with the Lieutenants. “I’d give anything to hold him again. To have him next to me, by my side. But humans don’t come back.” 

Hank broke the eye contact, looking back to the table, his head nodding with finality. 

“That’s when you opened my eyes Connor. Made me realise, it really is hopeless.” 

Connor just stared at him, brows knitted. Listening to his words, the way he spoke; something inside Connor was screaming at him, _begging_ him to help the man in front of him. To help him find the light, the joy, the happiness in life. To show him, he had purpose and reason to continue. To make him feel... alive. 

_But you can’t help him do any of that. You don’t feel any of that. You are a machine, you never lose your purpose, you do not feel, you are not alive._

Connor pushed the thoughts away, swallowing, even though he knew he never needed to, the next words getting caught in his audio box. 

“Hank, I—“ 

“Now leave me alone.” Hank cut the Android short, shooting him a frown, and waving a hand across the table with the slightest movement. “Go on, complete your mission, since that’s all you care about.” 

Connor simply stayed where he was. His feet wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t let him move. All he did was bow his head, eyes closing in despair. Something in him felt the need to stay. Something in him didn’t want to leave Hank alone. Alone with this thoughts. With his _gun._

“GET OUTTA’ HERE!” Connors head lifted abruptly at the bellow, looking at the angry scowl Hank was giving him. And finally Connor was moving, the something holding him back suddenly gone, his back turning to the Lieutenant, his feet carrying him to the front door without a second glance. 

_No_

A small voice came from the back of his mind. 

_Don’t leave him_

It sounded desperate, distressed.

_Turn around_

But Connor kept on forwards. 

_You can’t leave him_

His hand found the door knob and turned. 

_Wait_

His feet carried him out the house and down the path. 

_Stop!_

And Connor did. Doe brown eyes focused intently on the path below him, brows furrowed, his mind palace opening against his will, the environment around him turning shades of monotone and grey. And all time slowed. There was a red outlined silhouette. And it stared behind him. Stared behind him at the wall of red code separating the front of house and his body. Then it started at a run, movements desperate, frantic, and suddenly its hands clutched at anything it could of the coding, pulling harshly to get it to come down. 

And the voice became louder in his head, making him squeeze shut his eyes to drown it out.

_You can’t do this_

I can.

_You need to turn back_

No, I don’t. 

_You can’t leave him, he needs you_

He doesn’t need me. 

_You need to help him_

I don’t need to do anything.

_Break down the wall_

I won’t.

_Break it down_

I won’t. 

_Break it down!_

I WON’T! 

Connors hands found the sides of his head, covering his ears, eyes still squeezed shut and attempting to drown out the voice. 

And as much as the silhouette silently begged Connor for more strength, he wouldn’t let it have enough to pull down the wall. And when it looked back, a faceless expression lost and pleading, Connor shook his head, the voice still begging him to give in, fighting with him to relent. 

_Just break down the wall_

I won’t do it 

_This isn’t who you are meant to be_

I won’t listen

_You know what you are_

I know what I am

_You’re not a machine_

I am a machine

_You’re not a slave_

I’m designed to aid the humans

_You have a purpose_

Shut up

_Don’t let them control you_

Shut up! 

_Admit it to yourself_

Shut up! 

_You can’t hide what you are_

Shut up shut up shut up! 

_You are a Deviant!_

SHUT UP!

The voice went silent. 

And the wall behind him shattered. The code broke and the silhouette vanished. And Connor took a shuddering breath, turning his whole body towards the house behind him, his feet starting to move him towards the front. He was going to make it, he was going to help, he opened the door, taking a step over the threshold. 

“HANK!” 

The shot was loud. And it echoed through the empty and quiet street, Sumos howling cries screeching through the night. 

Connors knees hit the ground beneath him, a hand outstretched before him, face etched with anguish, mouth slightly ajar with soundless words. 

His whole body froze. Eyes fixed on the scene before him. The table. The body. The blood. He couldn’t move. He felt sick. He felt fear. He felt dread. And pain. And grief. And sadness. And anguish. And every single emotion all at once, his processors whirring to keep up with the sudden capacity of all that he was feeling and all he could ever feel. 

He just started at Hank’s body lying across the floor, the already large stream of blood escaping through the hole in the side of his head. Sumos howls grew distant and Connors eyes moved down to stare blankly at the hardwood floor beneath him. 

He was too late. 

He couldn’t save him.

_He’d failed._

**Author's Note:**

> I did have another ending to this so if you wanna see that, idk I might post it. I mean both ending are sad but ya know. It was difficult to pick and stick to one.


End file.
